


Fight For Your Life

by Feralious



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralious/pseuds/Feralious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silva is not the agent that's gone rogue; it's another former operative who's hunting down M at Skyfall. It's up to Silva and Bond to see to it that she's safe, but things get complicated when Bond's life ends up hanging in the balance as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight For Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based on [this fucking amazing drawing](http://00silvad.tumblr.com/post/40276459163/what-have-they-done-to-you-hang-on-there) by [laurazel](http://laurazel.tumblr.com/)

He’d stopped breathing when he found him, rushing over to his dark, silhouetted body, hoping desperately that he was alright.

“Bond,” he spoke hurriedly as hands reached out to inspect his condition, “James, what have they done to you?”

Bond didn’t speak, but Silva heard voices nonetheless – voices close enough for the wind to carry the words over to the two agents.

“He can’t be far!” he heard a man shout over the helicopter roaring in the sky. “I just saw him!”

Instinctively Silva’s hands wrapped themselves around Bond’s chest, dragging him along with him, all the way to the safe walls of Skyfall Manor. Anything better than out in the open, like animals to be hunted.

“Hang in there,” he told him, breath ragged from his efforts, slumping against the wall, still holding him.

He knew there were guards walking around near the front door, aided by the search lights from the helicopter – they were screwed if they caught them, they were outnumbered by far and Silva didn’t have many more bullets left. He wasn’t too sure about his aim, either; he’d run into one of the gunmen when he and Bond had been trying to distract them and the following fight had left him with a black eye almost swollen shut. He’d just hoped they’d bought M enough time to escape, but now – now he feared that losing sight of Bond just might’ve cost him his life and no, nothing could ever be worth that.

Bond was slightly moaning now, a shiver going through his body. Silva looked down at him, the search lights passing the grass just yards away from them showing his clothes glistening with blood.

Silva cursed and leaned towards Bond, hiding both of them behind his dark coat in case the henchmen looked their way. Meanwhile he tried to hold him upright, not allowing him to lie down and fall asleep, because he knew he’d never wake if he did.

There were two deep cuts, as far as he could see; none that seemed to have severed any arteries, but the damage was still significant enough for Bond to be in serious trouble.

“Stay here,” he told him, voice firm and steady even if he felt the littlest tinge of fear in the pit of his stomach, settling Bond against the wall before he got to his feet.

Bond grunted something in response, eyes still clenched shut in pain,  but he weakly stretched out a hand in Silva’s direction to stop him from leaving.

“What?” Silva asked him impatiently, looking around for possible enemies. “You’re going to be alright, James –”

“Gun,” Bond managed to say, taking a sharp intake of breath as the words left his mouth.

Silva ran his hands over the other agent’s jacket, collecting the firearm. Then he dared to take a peek around the corner; relieved he found that the henchmen had no clue their targets were this close by.

He didn’t know how much longer they had before it would be too late for Bond. If he could wait them out.

If he’d been James, the choice would’ve been so much easier – he’d just have charged in there and everything  would’ve worked out. But Silva wasn’t Bond, Silva was more calculative, he planned ahead.

Only now he had no idea what he was going to do.

Bond’s groaning noises made him turn around to look at him again, and at once he’d made up his mind – no matter what happened, he wasn’t just going to sit around waiting for 007 to die.

First he’d need to take care of the helicopter – he wouldn’t stand a chance if it found out their location.

“Quiet, be quiet, I’ll be right back,” he muttered to Bond, slipping off his coat and covering him up with it so that Bond now blended with the night. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

Then he took off, walking along the walls of the mansion, in the opposite direction of the gunmen, until he was looking at them from the opposite side of the house. At least this way, if they came for him, they wouldn’t immediately find Bond.

He narrowed his eyes, taking aim at the helicopter pilot, barely visible in the darkness. He really only had one shot; if he missed, he would be caught in the search light and that meant he’d be dead.

Silva had never missed a target, but there was so much at stake now. He wasn’t sure whether M had made it out of the house alive, if the rogue agent chasing her was still on her trail. He’d accompanied Bond in his attempt to keep her out of harm’s way because to Silva, little more mattered than M’s safety – but now that both lives were being threatened, something he vaguely remembered as nerves made its way to his stomach.

 _Focus, agent 009_ , he told himself, steadying his arm and taking in a deep breath. _Just take the shot._

And he took it, hitting the pilot straight between the eyes. The helicopter hung in the air for a brief moment, then started to slowly tip over, nose directed downwards.

He noticed the henchmen looking around at each other, wondering who fired the shot, then pointing upwards at the helicopter as it started making its way towards the ground.

With the deafening crash that followed the bright beam of light was also destroyed, leaving the whole world in pitch black darkness. But Silva had already remembered the positions of the hired guns, using his newfound cover to fire at them.

However, before he managed to take them all out he heard his gun click emptily in response; and by now they had taken notice of his location, firing back at him as he retreated around the corner, throwing away his own gun and grabbing hold of Bond’s.

He listened, the air quiet now. There were no more shots, no talking between the remaining henchmen. He imagined them steadily approaching the corner he was hiding behind, guns at the ready. He mentally counted them – how many had there been and how many shots had he fired? There were probably no more than three left. He could use the element of surprise to take out two, and if there was one more left, he’d see how he would deal with that.

Then he heard them – a footstep, yards away from him, and he stepped out of his hiding spot and fired, _bang, bang_ and heard two bodies drop to the ground before –

A white hot pain seared through his abdomen and he dropped the gun, instinctively jumping forward towards his assailant, tackling him to the ground. Snapping his neck didn’t take too much force, but Silva gritted his teeth in pain nonetheless at the burning sensation that started spreading throughout his body.

He had no idea where Bond’s gun was and he was unlikely to find it in this darkness, but if things had worked out alright he wouldn’t be needing it anyway – there were no more gunmen around.

The way back to Bond was much shorter now that he could just cross the front side of the house instead of walking all the way around it, only now it was a little more difficult to remember where he’d left him.

“Bond?” he called, but he got no response; the nerves were back in his stomach and his heartbeat quickened.

Then he tripped over something lying on the ground and he realized with shock that it was a body; a body that hadn’t responded at all to his weight.

“Took you long enough,” Bond’s voice croaked somewhere to his right. Silva looked up with a start, finding Bond’s blue eyes flashing at him through the dark.

“I’m sorry.” He almost laughed, if it hadn’t been for the pain and the dreadful feeling that they wouldn’t all be getting out of this alive.

“The knife,” Bond murmured, glancing at the dead goon before clasping his hand tighter over his side in pain. Silva’s hands passed over the body, finding the weapon and pulling it out. His hands were still surprisingly steady and apart from the pain he thought the damage he’d suffered wasn’t all that bad. It could just be the adrenaline talking, but at least he was better off than Bond, he bitterly thought, looking at him.

“Where’s M?”

“Should be… in the chapel.” Bond obviously forced out the words, clenching his eyes shut again, fighting to stay awake. “Follow the… the water.”

Silva placed a warm hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “Just hang on. I’ll get her. I promise. You better still be alive when I get back.”

He mumbled something about trying, but strength seemed to fade away with every breath he took and so Silva gently placed his palm on Bond’s jaw, put a thumb to his lips to stop him from talking.

He got one last look at those bright eyes before he stood up and proceeded in the direction of the chapel.

Running was difficult, every movement sending a shooting pain through his body, but there was nothing he could do for Bond now – he had to find M, had to make sure she was safe. After all, that was why they came here – Bond wouldn’t mind dying in the line of duty if it meant saving her life, but Silva refused to give up on either of them.

He’d gotten to the chapel in time to prevent the agent previously known as 003 from taking her life, but he had failed to protect her. He’d held her in his arms as she looked him in the eye, telling him that at least she got one thing right.

Silva knew she’d meant both Bond and him, but that didn’t change the crushing feeling in his chest as she drew her last breath, those eyes now staring into nothing. He’d held her in silence, ignoring the gamekeeper that watched them, allowing the tears to roll down his face, the fact that M was forever gone slowly burning its way into his mind.

At some point realization hit him that Bond was still back at the mansion and panic flared up inside of him, and with it the magnitude of his injury came crashing down upon him. He fumbled in M’s pockets for her cell phone, alerting Q Branch of their situation, telling them to send immediate medical assistance.

He didn’t tell them M was dead. That could wait. He didn’t want them telling Bond before he got a chance to do so.

He didn’t dare let in the possibility that maybe it was already too late for that.

 

His eyelids feel so heavy and he feels like just lying still, but there’s rustling to his side and he senses the presence of company.

“You awake?”

It’s a familiar voice and he cracks one eye open, Bond slowly coming into focus. He vaguely notices that he’s sitting in a wheelchair, an IV bag accompanying him, wearing one of those ridiculous gowns that hospitals provide.

Right… hospital. He was in a hospital.

“You look like shit,” Bond tells him, scratching at the scruff on his face.

“Have you seen yourself recently?” Silva manages, voice hoarse. He tries to sit up, annoyed by the various hospital equipment attached to him, restricting his movements. Somehow he succeeds though, and he looks at Bond; looks for signs that he’s okay.

Bond catches him looking and says, “I’m fine. Just a couple dozen stitches. Some blood transfusions.”

There’s a short silence where Silva keeps watching him, and Bond holds his gaze, until he speaks up again.

“Moneypenny dropped by. Apparently her will was read today.”

Silva doesn’t answer, a heavy weight suddenly dropping into his stomach.

“She left me the bloody bulldog,” Bond mutters.

Still no reply.

“She left you something too.”

At this Silva looks up, a sadness in his eyes. “What?” he asks him, although it feels like he doesn’t want to know – it would make her death all the more final.

“This,” Bond says, and he leans forward, handing him something wrapped in an old newspaper. Silva unfolds it and finds a framed photograph.

It’s not a photo, exactly; it’s a still from security footage recorded at MI6’s old headquarters. His eyes soften in recognition of the captured scene.

The image is a little blurry, in black and white, but it’s unmistakably a younger Silva – Tiago, rather – and M in her office. It must’ve been right before he went off to China, confirmed by the date stamp in the corner. He could actually remember the moment caught on camera – her telling him off for pulling something on his latest mission, but he just stood there smiling, hands behind his back, taking in the scolding. He’d known she was never truly angry with him, and she’d known that he’d never really change.

He’d almost never made it back from that assignment. He got caught by the Chinese, suffered torture at their hands, all the while thinking that M would save him. And after what had seemed like an eternity – she came through. 003 had gone rogue and she’d given him up, exchanging his life for his and five others.

Silva still had trouble believing that 003 had gone to such lengths to try and kill her, knowing that M’s personal feelings wouldn’t have played a role in the matter. 003 had been way out of line to take it that hard; after all, it should’ve been his own fault for disobeying her, and she’d responded in the only way possible.

Still, a considerable part of him believed that perhaps her feelings _had_ contributed to her decision; considering he’d been one of the six agents she’d receive in the exchange. He knew she would’ve exhausted every possibility to try and rescue him.

And now – here he was, along with Bond. Without M. She’d made sure to save him, and he couldn’t do the same in return. Would never be able to pay off that debt.

He could only hope that, together with Bond, he could live up to the dreams she’d had for the both of them. Even if she’d never known about the two of them growing this close over the years, she must’ve known that they’d be left in good hands if she would no longer be around.

Bond notices his gaze fixed on the photograph, his hands trembling, knowing Silva is trying his best to hold it together in front of him. He gets up on slightly shaky legs, pushing the IV bag out of his way, and sets himself on the side of his bed, one hand stroking his hair, the other covering his hands.

“She’s gone, James,” he whispers, allowing him to rest his body against his own.

Bond doesn’t answer; just holds him, places a kiss on his temple.

“I miss her too,” he speaks softly a few moments later. “But I still have you. And you have me. We’ll make it through.”

He finally allows his tears to fall, leaning into Bond’s chest, the photograph clutched in his hands. Yes, they still have each other.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.


End file.
